by Barbara Rowe
Under the porcelain sky,
a vast meadow of seawater
is laced with snakes of white light,
each glistening on its way to forever.
Pushed away from the work of words
I become again, amphibian,
where solitude is a privilege,
a smooth green sleeve to slip into.
Under this salt canopy,
scurry back and forth,
while a bottom dweller lies dormant,
flicking its tiny Japanese fans.
I become salt,
sea, the unknown shadow passing over
a vast coral metropolis littered with gardens.